


Impractical

by SolarMorrigan



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-06-23 09:53:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15603771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SolarMorrigan/pseuds/SolarMorrigan
Summary: A suit is frivolous and impractical and everything Q knows Bond needs after he's been released from hospital





	Impractical

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt "zip me" from [this writing meme](http://solarmorrigan.tumblr.com/post/172940956853/in-light-of-the-tag-craziness-lets-play-a-game), as requested by an anon on Tumblr
> 
> Originally posted here as part of a collection, which I've deleted; if you left kudos or a comment for this fic there, please know that I've saved them to look upon and cherish (also, thank you)

A suit is, above all else, highly impractical at the moment. Bond’s right arm is a generally useless weight, rendered so by a lucky (unlucky) shot to the shoulder. He can’t manage the buttons of his shirt or the fastening of his trousers or the ties of his shoes, and a more practical man (a less vain man, perhaps) would have settled for something like a t-shirt, track bottoms, and trainers. Things to carefully slip into, no need to tie or fasten.

But a more practical man likely wouldn’t have Q, and Bond figures a little fussing is more than a fair price for the man who is currently helping him pull on his socks.

The doctors have finally deemed Bond fit to return home, or else have finally grown tired of him (Bond had promised Q he would stay put, but he never promised to  _behave_ ), and Q has come to whisk him away to their flat, where the cats will ignore him and Q will glare and dote in turns.

Bond is looking forward to it immensely.

The clothes Q has brought for him are, again, impractical, but Q knows Bond. He knows that a t-shirt and track bottoms simply wouldn’t do, that Bond must appear as  _Bond, James Bond, 007_  and so – the suit.

Q helps Bond out of the hateful hospital gown and into a fresh pair of pants, into his socks, into his trousers. He lets Bond put his left arm through the sleeve of his shirt before easing his right in. He buttons up from the bottom with as much attention and care as he shows any of his gadgets, pressing feather-light kisses to the abused skin disappearing behind the fine cotton shirt with the reverence of relief. The anger was spent when Bond first woke, the raw fear and spitting fury of someone who had been forced to listen to his loved one’s suffering and had been useless, helpless.

This isn’t the end of it, of course, but as Q helps Bond tuck his shirt in and fasten his trousers, it feels like a well-deserved pause.

Q wraps his arms around Bond’s waist to feed the belt through the loops of his trousers and stays pressed against him longer than is really necessary, is close enough for Bond to brush his lips over Q’s temple, and Bond does just that.

The tie comes next, secured in a neat, even knot unlike the way Q ever ties his own ties. Q generally dresses himself in a hurry, certain outfits preassembled and pre-matched, ties a bit crooked and shoes hastily shoved into, because clothes are a necessity Q doesn’t care to waste time on. But he pays careful attention now, and pieces Bond together with deliberate, caring efficiency.

The shoes are tied so precisely that Bond realizes this effort is not just for him.

Last is the jacket, pulled straight over his left shoulder but the sleeve hanging empty on his right, his arm relegated to a sling. Still, it’s worlds better. It feels like slipping into familiar armor, like coming home.

Bond catches Q before he can step away, cups his jaw with his good hand, and draws him into a slow kiss. It’s a thank you and an apology and a promise he’ll likely break.

They pull apart after a short while, eschew the wheelchair despite the growing pain of standing and walking, and make their slow, careful way out the door.

**Author's Note:**

> [Also posted on Tumblr](http://solarmorrigan.tumblr.com/post/172984893138/zip-me-bondq-please-and-thank-you)


End file.
